The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,58

heard the sound of someone whistling along with the muzak. Quietly, they leaned out over the edge and looked down at the corridor beneath the one they were on. They couldn’t see much from where they were, but they spotted a leathery green arm and part of a clawed foot striding along on the second circle.

The hand carried what looked like a battery-operated drill. The drill bit whizzed round a few times, then the creature stopped whistling. They heard him clear his throat, a door creaked open, and the muzak was drowned out by a chorus of wretched moans.

“Right then, you ’orrible little buggers,” cried the demon with the drill. “Say hello to my little friend!”

The groans grew in volume, before the door slammed closed and silenced them. Angelo looked sideways at Zac.

“Well, maybe it’s not that nice.”

Zac turned away from the edge and looked along the corridors. “Still, this isn’t what I expected,” he said. “I thought Hell was all labyrinths and dungeons and lakes of fire, not... not... carpets and corridors and—”

“Escalators,” said Angelo.

Zac paused. “What? Where?”

“Over there,” Angelo said, pointing to a spot about a third of the way round the top corridor. Two sets of moving stairs stood side by side, one leading down, the other coming back up.

Zac’s eyes followed the second circle round until he saw another pair of escalators connecting it with the floor below. A few dozen metres along from those, more moving stairs went between the third and fourth circles.

“No,” Zac frowned. “It can’t be that easy. Can it?”

“Why not?”

“Well, because it’s Hell. Hell’s not supposed to be easy.”

“Stop complaining,” Angelo grinned. “You always want things to be harder than they are.” He pointed right down to the bottom floor. “The book’s down there, isn’t it? The Book of Everything?”

“Apparently so.”

“Come on, I’ll race you. Last one to the stairs is a Judas Iscariot.”

“Angelo, wait!”

It was no use. The boy was off and running, his bare feet thudding on the zigzag carpet, his arms pumping furiously as he sped towards the escalator.

And then a door was opening just along the corridor in front of him.

And then a demon was stepping out, a blood-stained cleaver in his misshapen hands.

The demon looked up. Angelo stumbled to a stop. Their eyes locked.

And that was when the screaming started.

HE DEMON CONTINUED to scream for just a few seconds, then stopped almost as suddenly as he had started.

“What in here’s name do you think you’re playing at?” he demanded, clutching at his bare chest. He nudged the door closed behind him and shot Angelo a dirty look. “You nearly gave me a sodding heart attack!”

Angelo glanced at Zac, then back to the figure in the doorway. “Um... sorry.”

The demon was short and squat with a big nose and pointed ears. His skin was a burned shade of brown, with red nodules growing from his cheeks like tiny mushrooms. He wore a very small, very tight pair of satin gold pants, and it was only as he glided slowly forward that Zac realised he was also wearing roller skates.

“So you should be. Running about like that, scaring people. It shouldn’t be allowed.” He wiped his nose on the back of his arm, and eyed the tattered remains of Angelo’s clothes. “Here, you ain’t escaped, have you?”

Angelo quickly shook his head.

“You sure?” He looked both boys up and down. “Where you come from, then, if you ain’t escap— Ulk!”

The tip of a dart dug into the demon’s flesh where his neck met his shoulder. A long green tongue unfurled from within his mouth and his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets. His feet slid out from beneath him and his forehead hit the carpet with a slightly hollow thunk.

Angelo stared accusingly at Zac’s gun. “Do you have to shoot everyone we meet?”

“Well, maybe if you listened to me and didn’t go running off, I wouldn’t have to! In future, do as you’re told, OK?”

“Why, what will you do? Shoot me too?”

Zac pushed past him. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he mumbled, stepping up to the slumbering demon. They both peered down at him.

“Maybe you should steal his clothes,” Angelo suggested. “You know, so you’re in disguise. That’s what Indiana Jones does.”

Zac’s eyes went to the gold satin hot pants and skates. “Yeah. I think I’ll leave it,” he said. He turned to Angelo. “I think you should wait here.”

“What? Why?” asked Angelo.

“Because I don’t know what else we’ll meet, and I’ve only got one dart left.”

Angelo counted on